


Performance Issues

by Jemppu



Series: Honey Mushroom [40]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Art, Culmets - Freeform, Fanart, M/M, Tumblr, honey mushroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23837566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemppu/pseuds/Jemppu
Summary: Part of"Honey Mushroom"series of illustrated Culmets momentslisted here on tumblr.Paul is having some difficulties.With an illustrations:"Performance Issues"and"Team Stamets".
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Series: Honey Mushroom [40]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1080993
Kudos: 14





	Performance Issues

**Author's Note:**

> The series gets released quite out of order, as inspiration dictates, so I urge you to check out the [series list on tumblr](https://tinyurl.com/honeyshroom) for a better picture of the whole.

## 

## Performance Issues  
  


“Lieutenant Stamets! We are dropping out of warp. They are switching the controls over to us.” Lieutenant Junior Grade Harrington chimes through the communicator, “where are you!? …Sir.”  
  
The action seemed to have been well on it’s way by the time Paul opened his PADD and saw the announcement.

He is late. Way late.

  
He is usually glued to his communication devices - but of course the notice for this unscheduled Spore Drive drill has to have come the one time he has allowed himself to briefly switch the devices off. If there has been any hails for him through the PA, he has been too distracted to have heard them either. The ship wide general alert was the first thing to rouse his attention, and for someone in his position, that is way too late to react.  
  
“On my way… Right over!” Paul huffs irately while trying to wiggle his uniform jacket on in full speed, “you know what to do. Stall.”  
  
Why the fuck is he even bothering with the jacket? It will just be in the way once he goes to link up to that spore drive.  
  
“They **will** notice the lull on the Bridge”, Harrington remarks, failing in trying to hide the irk in their voice.  
  
“Yes, yes, Junior”, Paul scoffs, mostly irritated by his own current lack of efficiency, “it’ll all be on me”.  
  
“Just be ready to hook me up”.  
  
“We are”, Harrington blankly points out.  
  
“Right”, Paul dismisses the connotation of the remark with a sneer and closes the communicator, as he finally curves to the engineering room’s corridor.  
  
How the hell were they even able to start the drill without the Chief Engineer there? Surely the Bridge would’ve made sure, that everyone be present before starting their ‘games’, Paul’s frustrated mind tries to excuse itself.  
  
But he knows full well he has no-one but himself to blame, for having allowed himself to ‘sleep on the job’. This is exactly what these drills are for: to make sure everyone stays alert, at all times.  
  
“We ready?”, he asks as he walks briskly in the Starboard Engineering room, throwing the useless jacket aside.  
  
“Only the Tardigrade DNA is presenting tardiness” Harrington has the gall to retort as they hand over a PADD with their set coordinates for Paul to check through.  
  
'Cute’, Paul thinks, flashing a disapproving look at the Junior Lieutenant, momentarily thinking of scolding them out of duty, but fully aware of his own shortcomings in the situation and too busy to bother to play the ridiculous “seniority routine” right now.  
  
He does secretly find it charming, when rarely the crew let their true opinions shine 'through the ranks’, and wishes he too could relent from this ludicrous 'superiority act’ from time to time, but in his unusual position feels he can’t encourage such behavior - or even really wants to let the crew become too familiar - in fear of losing what ever apparent 'authority’ his civilian self might have over the Academy trained personnel.  
  
He will let it pass this time.  
  
Having quickly glanced over the coordinates, Paul gets into the Spore Drive chamber, leans back on the seat, and tries his best to relax, awaiting for the machine to hook up to his arms. This never gets pleasant, and he’d rather not look at the cold metal rods penetrate his arms, but can still obviously feel them lock on every time.  
  
On his signal, the Ensign at the controls taps their screen to activate the spore rods, which then turn to their positions - custom set to match the placement of Paul’s arms on the seat - and automatically seek out and steer themselves to the entry ports.  
  
As they do so Paul can feel something is wrong, even before it is apparent to others present; the tiny tug he usually feels on his veins right before the automatic valve covers open and align does not occur.  
  
“Wait, wait”, the Lieutenant calls out to alert the crew, but fails to specify his exact command in time.  
  
“Fuck!”, Paul exclaims, as the left rod clicks against an unopened valve door, and slids across the augmentation’s surface. Paul is quick to pull his arm off of the rest; a fraction of a second slower and he’d have the rod possibly pierce through his brachial artery.  
  
Meanwhile the other rod still slids into position as expected, pinning him to the seat, unable to move away or reach over to his other arm.  
  
“Shit”, Paul curses to himself, “reverse the sequence”, he tries to communicate to the control, but not in clear enough manner to get anything, but confusion from the Ensign at the helm.  
  
“What’s happening, sir?” Harrington is the first one quick enough to address the agitated Lieutenant, stepping away from their station and rushing by the chamber, while everyone else is still either too concentrated on their tasks, too confused or too wary to react.  
  
“The right side connection failed to open”, Paul communicates to the Junior Lieutenant now at the chamber door, while side-glancing at the metal rod menacingly pressing against the arm rest. “Control, pull back the rods”, he commands again, throwing a wide-eyed stare over to the Ensign helming the spore drive controls, as if to ask how is he still attached to this damn machine.  
  
This all happens in a matter of mere seconds, but which to Paul - pinned to the seat - feel more like minutes.  
  
“The Bridge demands status”, officer at communications announces just as the rods pull back releasing Paul.  
  
Fuck.  
  
“Communicate to them, that we are unable to perform,” Paul instructs with a cold commanding voice to hide his disappointment.  
  
They are out of the game.  
  
This is the highest form of failure imaginable, Paul curses in his mind, rubbing his arm, trying to manually slide the valve cover open with his thumb. What if this had been a real situation?  
  
“And advice the controls to be switched back to Warp”, Paul commands reluctantly, feeling quite defeated.  
  
And the damn valve still won’t open.  
  
Harrington steps away from the chamber, to assist at the communication board, as Paul goes on examining the augmentation closer, trying to figure out if there’s a way to jam something in there to nudge it open. He tries the other one - it seems to slide open and activate just fine.  
  
The whole team outside the glass chamber looks on confused as to what exactly, if anything, they should be doing.  
  
Paul steps to the doorway of the chamber and observes Harrington in contact with the bridge.  
  
He is honestly surprised Lorca still hasn’t paged through to harass him personally over the PA. The man must be busy enjoying himself playing what ever war games they are currently conducting over there upstairs.  
  
“Status”, Paul asks the com to wrap it up. He doesn’t like the team standing idle, while Warp is presumably busy patching up their mistakes. **His** mistakes.  
  
“Sir, we are continuing with the drill”, Harrington confirms, steps away from the station and walks back over to the chamber, “they are conducting some maneuvering drills at the Bridge controls now, before doing rounds between departments to test their response and circling back to us.”  
  
Well, they themselves sure as hell failed that test, Paul curses in his mind, now focused on the jammed valve again.  
  
“Any estimate as to how long we have?” Paul asks with an irritated huff, but relieved in his mind, that they might have another chance to proof their worth still - turn this failure, if not into victory, then at least not leave it to be a total defeat.  
  
“Nothing from the Bridge, sir”, Harrington responds unsure, “based on previous drills, I’d say from twenty up to thirty minutes. Depending on how thorough scenarios they’re running at the helm and how well the other departments perform”.  
  
“Okay”, Paul accepts the answer, “let the team know to keep alert. And to keep all the settings as they were for this round. Just be ready to change the coordinates as soon as we get them from the Bridge.”  
  
“I need to get this damn port open somehow”, Paul says out loud enough for the room to hear him, and gestures to couple of his engineers to go look for something to use as tools.  
  
They unfortunately don’t have a separate expert for the drive connections on the engineering team themselves. Or they would have - Paul should certainly be one to know how to operate the augmentations himself, but admittedly has had the oversight to properly study them. Hugh has so far been so overbearingly attentive of them, and Paul has seen him obviously the most qualified to work his own inventions anyway - well, he and maybe the med technicians, who had actually made the devices.  
  
Paul now realizes however, how it is crucial he should be able to handle them without outside reliance. It’s his damn body the things are attached to after all, as foreign as they might still feel.  
  
“Sir, I suggest you hail your medic”, Harrington interrupts with a hint of doubt in their voice, “I’m not completely comfortable with us prying the valve open with force”.  
  
Paul surely isn’t either - it’s his veins they’d be exposing to the air after all - but this is something of an emergency - make-believe or not - and he knows for a fact, that Hugh is not currently on duty and wouldn’t necessarily be ready in a moment’s notice.  
  
But there doesn’t seem to be much other choice. And now would be the time to alert for the doctor anyway, so he can be ready in case they won’t be able to open the port themselves after all.  
  
“Fine”, Paul relents, and Harrington is quick to hand him their communicator. “You brief the team, I’ll call for assistance”, Paul instructs, flips the device open and opens the line, fully expecting it to take a while for Hugh to answer.  
  
Paul can hear the line getting picked up from the other end almost immediately, just as Harrington steps aside from the chamber to allow couple of their fellow crew members bearing tools to enter.  
  
“Culber, Medical”, Hugh’s voice sounds out - the doctor is clearly answering to the unfamiliar Engineer ID. It’s surprisingly uncomforting for Paul to hear his man use the professional tone directed at him. Calm and assuring as it might be to others, for him it sounds distant, like the man is talking to a stranger.  
  
“It’s me, Dear”, Paul answers, but gets quickly distracted, realizing the presence of the two officers now laying out tools next to him.  
  
“Paul?” Hugh’s voice sounds out puzzled, now in much more familiar a tone.  
  
“Sorry, a moment”, Paul holds the device aside and turns to the officers discreetly, “actually, boys, could you wait outside for a while”.  
  
The pair of them look at the Lieutenant a bit confused, but do as told, stepping out of the chamber.  
  
Awkward looks get exchanged again as Paul leans in after the officers, to close the door in front of them.  
  
 _“Boys”_? Paul just then realizes, how his choice of words might have been a cause for the junior officers’ confusion there as well. He seems to be too out of sorts today to maintain his usual professional facade.  
  
“Sorry”, he picks up the communicator conversation again, “I hate to drag you out of the bed on the day off, but I’m having some performance issues only you can help with”, Paul explains careful not to raise his voice much - uneasy with the amount of eyes currently staring at him confusedly from outside the glass and knowing full well these walls aren’t completely sound proof.  
  
Paul can feel the looks of the two idle officers on him as he furrows his brows in frustration to Hugh’s frisky reply from the other end of the line. “Very funny”, he huffs irritated - more annoyed with his own irk than the obvious response itself - his man sounds to still be in the mood he himself was only few blissful moments ago, “seriously, Hugh. It’s urgent you get here”.  
  
“Don’t worry, Honey” Hugh answers reassuringly with a change of tone, “already at the Turbolift; I’ll be right over”. “Don’t do anything stupid.”  
  
How? Paul thinks to himself. But then realizes the experienced medical officer was probably getting dressed the moment he got the call, and ready by the time Paul just got his issue presented.  
  
Paul steps to the chamber door to let the “boys” in again to check on the status of the spore rods. “No need for the tools after all”, he explains loud enough for Harrington to hear him too, “doctor Culber is on his way, and soon here to check this out.”  
  
“How’s the team?” Paul asks Harrington and hands them the communicator back, while hanging on the doorway.  
  
“Up to date and ready, sir.”  
  
“Good, I trust you to receive the coordinates and to assign them to get checked”, Paul instructs, and lets Harrington take their station again, then turns to observe the officers now checking the spore rod for any possible damage from it’s collision with the armrest.  
  
Only a moment later, Paul can see from his chamber as Hugh walks into the Engineering room.  
  
Harrington is there to greet him - of course. They sure are eager to take over - and why wouldn’t they be: given their training, they could infact be much more qualified for the commanding position, than he himself can hope to be, Paul thinks.  
  
The Junior Lieutenant appears to be briefing the medic on the situation. _“Just let the man get in here”_ , Paul finds himself thinking - he’s pretty sure that’s one thing he could do better himself: explain the situation to his man.  
  
The rod seems to be okay now and Paul dismisses the two officers again as Hugh enters the chamber.  
  
“Gods, Paul”, Hugh cringes at the set of crude Starship mechanic’s tools still laid on the floor, “don’t tell me this is the stuff you were going to try and probe your arm with?”  
  
Paul flushes a bit, “those are mostly to get this thing shifted back to position”, he says gesturing towards the spore rod mechanics. It’s not untrue - mostly.  
  
“Mm-hmm”, Hugh sounds out in his familiar unconvinced manner. “So, I understood the valve cover won’t open?”, he says and gives Paul a little nudge towards the seat, “can you lean there, please, so this is easier to work on”. He is using a more formal tone again.  
  
Hugh quickly examines Paul’s arm, opens the kit he came prepared with and pulls out a tool - a much more delicate one, than the ones laying on the floor, is all Paul can tell.  
  
“Were you briefed on the situation otherwise?” Paul asks.  
  
“Yes. Are you okay?” Hugh asks in a bit more familiar tone, as he goes on to work on the augmentation, “I mean how are you taking this all?”  
  
Paul sees Harrington hurry over from their station and doesn’t have time to answer before the Junior Lieutenant is at the chamber door again.  
  
“Lieutenant Stamets, we are already 15 minutes in”, they chime, “the control was just transfered to Warp - we’re up next”.  
  
“Thank you, Harrington”, Paul appreciates the update, but can’t really do anything with it right now.  
  
“Sorry”, Hugh suddenly apologizes out of nowhere once Harrington has cleared the doorway - in his more intimate tone.  
  
Paul looks at him confused, trying to make sure he knows what this is for exactly. “You don’t think this is anyhow your fault, do you?” he speaks in a low voice, all too aware of the now wide open chamber door.  
  
“You know as well as I do, that I have some part in this happening”, Hugh answers, lowering his voice to equally low level to respect the 'sanctity’ of his man’s 'home turf’.  
  
“Nonsense”, Paul assures raising his voice ever so slightly for emphasis, “this is because of my own apparent inability to manage my time”.  
  
“And clearly, the unwillingness to study up on these augmentations enough”, he adds and lets out a low hiss between his teeth as Hugh tugs on something, which sends a cold wave up his veins.  
  
“Naw”, Hugh responds in a much more normal volume, “this is an unfortunate glitch. Nothing you could’ve prepared for”.  
  
But he could’ve discovered it in time, had he realized to come here earlier to get ready for the drill, Paul thinks, but won’t say it out loud, to spare further unnecessary guilt from his man.  
  
“If anything you’re an all too welcome distraction from all of this madness”, he continues to assure Hugh, now actually whispering, while gesturing with his free hand towards the engineering room busily prepping for these 'war games’.  
  
“But might it be too much of a distraction is exactly my point” Hugh answers, and Paul’s winched expression immediately tells him he might’ve forgotten to lower his voice.  
  
“I regret nothing”. Paul then cringes and leans closer to his man, now barely audible, “if you are thinking about somehow 'holding out’, I must come out and say it certainly won’t **help** my concentration”. He is keeping an intense look-out for anyone even glancing towards the chamber.  
  
“Me?” Hugh can’t help himself from laughing a little at the sweetness of Paul’s concern, “I worry **you** might get too spooked over this to ever allow yourself to relax again”.  
  
Paul is impressed how Hugh’s able to maintain a conversation, while still working with such efficiency - he kinda likes witnessing his Officer in action.  
  
Paul is himself finding it bit difficult to concentrate on the thing just said, and takes a moment to process the thought, before coming to a realization. “…fine”, he finally concludes, “so, we agree this won’t become an issue?” “Can we **please** not discuss this here any further?”  
  
Hugh replies with just a smile and goes on concentrating on the task at hand. Paul feels a slight encouraging touch on his shoulder - that’s not a doctor’s touch, is it?  
  
He has already let his team down once today - Paul catches himself thinking - he needs to find his attentiveness not to let it happen again.  
  
“Lieutenant Stamets!”, Harrington’s voice pierces through Paul’s thoughts.  
  
“Sir, the Bridge has just sent in the new coordinates”, they announce, peeking through the open door.  
  
“Good. Well, then, bunch them in!”, Paul responds now in a much too familiar cocky attitude. Lieutenant Stamets seems to be back.  
  
“We’re good to go, right.” He turns to Hugh. It doesn’t sound so much a question, as a command to get things done.  
  
“We’re good to go”, Hugh responds smiling, “just need to get you patched up again later”, he says tapping on the augmentation to signal the work finished.  
  
Oh, the man seems to have removed the whole cover entirely. How unnervingly… exposing, Paul thinks.  
  
“You want me to stay around in case it doesn’t work?” Hugh asks as he packs up his tools.  
  
“I’m sure it will. You go ahead”, Paul flashes his 'smooth look’, “I’ll come back to cuddle you once Lorca’s done with his games.”  
  
Hugh just tilts his head affectionately and smiles.  
  
“Okay, now get out”, Paul waves his hand at Hugh, “your man needs to work”.  
  
Hugh steps out of the chamber just as Harrington rushes in. Geez, today must be the busiest the damn glass cage has ever been, Paul thinks.  
  
“Sir, the final coordinates” Harrington says, holding out a PADD for the Chief Engineer to see.  
  
Paul glances over at the numbers, but it doesn’t really matter what they read. At this point it is more of a formality - there’s no time for him to check them over anyway. Besides, he isn’t even the most qualified number cruncher in this team of **actual** engineers.  
  
“Who did the final check on these?” he asks, still following Hugh with his eyes. As he sees him turn at the door to take one final look, Paul mouths “thank you” to his man, who smiles back in acknowledgement before stepping out.  
  
“Cadet Tilly did, Sir”, Harrington replies with hint of uncertainty in their voice, visibly worried as to if the Lieutenant is paying attention at all.  
  
“Good”, Paul responds and turns to them to give one of his self-assured smiles, “then they’re just fine”.  
  
“Everybody ready?” he asks.  
  
“Just waiting for the command from the Bridge, Sir.”  
  
“Good, let’s show them then”.  
  
“Yes, Sir.”

[ ](https://jmalkki.tumblr.com/post/190455352329/team-stamets-finally-a-proper-group-shot-to)

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts on the work posted along with the illustration on [**tumblr**](https://jmalkki.tumblr.com/post/174739634649/performance-issues-a-rare-bit-more-action-y-one).
> 
> _Likes, shares, comments and what have you, all appreciated on:_   
>  _[**tumblr**](http://jmalkki.tumblr.com/) | [**twitter**](https://twitter.com/Jemppu) | [**instagram**](https://www.instagram.com/jeminamalkki/) | [**DeviantArt**](https://www.deviantart.com/jemppu)_


End file.
